


What He Least Expected

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baby Dwarves, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarves, First Age, Gen, Nogrod, immediately prior to the War of Wrath, they had to go somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13524111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Maedhros is in Nogrod to close a deal with the dwarrows - a desperately needed deal.





	What He Least Expected

**Author's Note:**

> This will eventually fit in with my First Age series, but it's well down the line from the next installments, so I haven't added it to the series just yet. 
> 
> Written for a request from an anonymous ask on Tumblr for Maedhros with baby dwarves.

Maedhros straightened, subtly checking that he was dressed appropriately. He needed this meeting to go well. If it did not…

The consequences did not bear thinking on. He has lost father, brothers, and cousins, but he will _not_ lose his children. _The_ children, he reminded himself yet again. They are not his, though they are likely the closest to sons of his own he will ever have. He tried not to think of them in such terms, to keep them _kinsmen_ and not _sons_. It has not worked.

Elrond and Elros’ lives depend on his success this day. That left him no choice - he must succeed.

There was only so much that could be done with intermediaries, when dealing with dwarrows. Beyond a certain point, they expected to negotiate face to face. Underlings might be trusted with preliminaries, but not with finalizing such a treaty as he sought.

It at least had novelty on its side. Morgoth will not expect this – indeed, he is likely even now preparing to cut Amon Ereb off from any possible escape to the Sea. The Enemy could sense the change in the West winds even as they could. He will expect them to send the children to Balar before making their last stand. That they would instead strike out East would never enter his head. That they would bring Thingol’s last surviving heirs _here_ of all places…

The dwarrows of Návarot have both traded and warred with the elves of Beleriand, but never before have they sheltered them.

Maedhros smoothed his hair and straightened his circlet, smothering a smile as he did. Would that Elros could have been here to see that such things were as needful in their proper time and place as he has been told for the past seven years.

The twins’ lessons have turned to dwarrows of late, though of course the boys do not yet realize why. If today goes well, in a few short weeks, they will know all.

“Greetings, Prince Maedhros.”

The speaker was as richly dressed as Maedhros himself, for on formal occasions, dwarrows showcased their work. This was not the finest either of them had to offer – that would be reserved for the presence of the king, probably at dinner that evening – but it was not far off.

Maedhros had opted for the copper circlet he liked best, a collaboration between his brother and his father in the days before Fëanaro was openly feuding with his brother, set with several clear white stones. They were not the Silmarils, but their light remembered the Trees, and few gems crafted here in Beleriand could equal them. His tunic was a rich red brocade, which he otherwise seldom had cause to wear these days.

His counterpart, of course, outshone him. The dwarrow’s beard was an easy match for Maedhros’ hair, but woven with bands of silver studded with gems the elves named star sapphire but the dwarrows called Light of Mahal, and the ornamental leather jerkin over a deep blue doublet was embroidered with gold and silver as fitted a prince of the realm.

“Prince Kheli,” he replied with a formal bow.

Kheli smirked, and Maedhros knew it meant he had still not quite mastered the proper pronunciation.

At least he had trained himself to use only the masculine address when speaking. Dwarrows did not use gendered forms of address, preferring what both Sindarin and Quenya generally translated as male pronouns and titles for all, for they considered gender to be a private matter. Maedhros had not dealt with any of the other clans, but he knew the Firebeards found it rather odd and perhaps even a bit insulting that the taller kindreds openly made such sharp distinctions between male and female.

“Have no fear, Copperhead. A lisp is not an insult,” Kheli assured him. “I dare say many will find it endearing. And perhaps a bit reassuring.”

The flicker of Kheli’s eyes up and down his long frame did not escape him. He was considered tall by his own people. To the dwarrows he was a veritable giant. The largest of them stood only to his waist.

“At further risk of insult, honored prince, I had expected to meet your father,” Maedhros ventured. “I had understood him to be amenable to my proposal.”

He definitely didn’t miss the twinkle in Kheli’s eye.

“You might wish to review your Khuzdul, noble friend,” Kheli told him. “ _That_ word is for marriages, not treaties or trade.”

He inclined his head politely. Such a mistake was probably an even greater faux pas given that he knew he spoke to the _daughter_ , not the _son_ of Telakh. (It had been some years of dealing with both the king and the prince before Maedhros realized that, and he had never raised the point, uncertain if it was rude to acknowledge it or not.)

“I live to learn, venerable one” he replied, hoping he had the phrase correct. It had originated among the dwarves, but was as apt for his own people as it was for them.

Kheli nodded in return.

“As do we all,” she replied gravely. “And yet – my father is no longer young by our reckoning, though in yours I understand he would be scarce more than a youth. He feels that as it will be those younger than him who must bear the consequences of this agreement, for good or ill, the final say should be mine, not his. He leaves the decision in my hands.”

Maedhros paused, considering.

Kheli would be King after her father, but he had not expected that for another fifty to a hundred years – years it may yet prove that none of them truly have, given that Morgoth now dominates nearly all of Beleriand and has never known the meaning of _satisfied_ or _enough_.

“In that case, Prince Kheli, I would hear your thoughts on my – suggested course of action?”

It was frustrating not being sure of his words, but the gesture of using the dwarrows’ preferred language has been too well received for him to abandon it now. And the folk of Návarot pride themselves on honesty – part of the reason their rage at Thingol had run so deep – so he knew they would ensure he signed nothing he does not fully understand.

“Walk with me, tall one,” she suggested, looking rather amused. “You may need to be careful of your head – these halls have been enlarged with your kind in mind, but you are the tallest elf we have ever seen, Elu Tightfist included.”

Maedhros thanked her as gravely as he could, given that he really wished to laugh. If nothing else, the elves of Amon Ereb and the dwarrows of Návarot had this much in common: they agreed Thingol had been a fool.

It turned out he only needed to duck twice – the corridors and even the rooms they passed were all more than acceptable by elven standards, and wanted only furnishings to be comfortable. They might lack the grandeur and elegance of Menegroth, but Maedhros and his brother had not asked for elegance – security was their priority, and space enough for their people and their animals their main requirement.

The hall Kheli stopped in was not empty. There were several dwarrows within, attendants if Maedhros judged correctly. And something he had never seen before – dwarrow younglings.

He regretted more than ever not bringing one or both boys. The young always seemed to get on, regardless of what their elders might do.

“My sons,” Kheli announced. “Gabil and Farin.”

Gabil was old enough to walk cautiously on his own, but Farin was still only a babe in arms. Maedhros had no sense of what their ages might be, and did not trust that it might not be some breach of etiquette to ask.

“You honor me, Prince Kheli,” he said cautiously, uncertain what the proper compliment would be. “They look to be fine, strong children.”

“I hope it proves so,” she replied.

And then, to his immense surprise, she handed Farin to him.

Maedhros managed not to drop the tiny child, but it was a near thing given how shocked he was. The little one was scarce more than a handful for him, and looked solemnly up at him, apparently less disconcerted at being held by a giant than Maedhros was at holding a child so very little.

He blinked at the unfamiliar sound of dwarvish laughter.

“It’s only a wee thing, he’s much too small to take an axe to you yet,” one attendant chortled before Kheli hurriedly hushed him.

“I am honored by your trust, Prince Kheli,” Maedhros stammered. “But I must ask – why am I holding your son? Are you not worried?”

“Less worried than I would be had you not asked the question, or shown such obvious concern not to do him harm,” she replied solemnly. “You’ve dealt with us before, Prince Maedhros. You know well that we may drive a bargain, but at the heart of our business we have always treated each other as equals.”

“Indeed,” Maedhros said, solemnly offering Farin the tip of his little finger.  The tiny dwarrow gave him a puzzled look when he discovered it to be much larger than the fingers he was used to grabbing at, and gummed it indignantly as if that might bring it down to size.

“I have heard that this treaty is for the good of your young,” Kheli continued. “You know you are taking a risk in bringing them here. I wanted you to see that you are not the only one at risk in this venture.”

Maedhros offered young Farin back to his mother, who accepted him without any sign of undue worry.

“You worry enough for both of us, Copperhead,” she observed drily. “I did presume that as you have young ones of your own, you _had_ held a child before.”

“Never one so small,” Maedhros murmured.

“Ah, yes, I suppose our infants would not be as large as yours,” Kheli said ruefully. “It would make birthing rather difficult. There, now we have both learned something this day.”

Gabil toddled boldly up – he did not even reach as high as Maedhros’ knee – and lifted his arms imperiously, unwilling to miss out on his share of the visitor’s attention.

Maedhros, after a quick glance at the prince of Návarot, picked the child up and sat him on one shoulder, where the boy squealed with delight at his unexpected perch.

“These ones will not be old enough to wield an axe, if the war you expect comes as you say it will,” Kheli told him grimly. “We – you and I, your people and mine – will have to be enough to protect them.”

“We may not be enough to protect my young,” Maedhros replied quietly, doing his best to keep one eye on the boy on his shoulder lest he fall. “The Enemy wants them dead. And _they_ may well be old enough to take up arms in their own defense before the end.”

“So long as you understand the stakes, and that we expect no less in defense of ours than we offer for the protection of yours,” Kheli said firmly, “then we have a deal, elf.”

Maedhros looked down sharply, though he did not release his cautious hold on the young dwarrow.

“We do?”

“Indeed, Prince of the Noldor. Tumunzahar has not forgotten our old grudge against the evil in the North that slaughtered so many of our kind and daily defiles our Maker’s works, nor your reputation for being his chiefest foe. But for the sake of your young, I would say we should set pen to paper without further delay, that you not wait any longer to move them. Messengers arrived this morning from Gabilgathol, and I suspect the warning they bring means your time runs shorter than you guessed.”

Maedhros thanked whatever Vala might hear him that they already had nearly everything in readiness. The fortress could be evacuated before the week was out.

“Then let us conclude our treaty, Prince Kheli,” he said, swinging a reluctant Gabil back down, “and I will send word to my people at once.”


End file.
